Veintiuno
The days grew warmer and the Blue Lake opened for swimming, but Cico and I avoided the glistening, naked boys who dared the deep-blue power of the lake. Instead we worked our way around the teeming lake and towards the creek. It was time for the arrival of the golden carp!
“He will come today,” Cico whispered, “the white sun is just right.” He pointed up at the dazzling sky. Around us the earth seemed to groan as it grew green. We had waited many days, but today we were sure he would come. We crawled through the green thicket and sat by the edge of the pond. Around us sang the chorus of insects which had just worked their way out of winter nests and cocoons.
While we waited time flowed through me and filled me with many thoughts. I was still concerned with the silence of God at communion. Every Saturday since Easter I had gone to confession, and every Sunday morning I went to the railing and took communion. I prepared my body and my thoughts for receiving God, but there was no communication from Him. Sometimes, in moments of great anxiety and disappointment, I wondered if God was alive anymore, or if He ever had been. He had not been able to cure my uncle Lucas or free the Téllez family from their curse, and He had not been able to save Lupito or Narciso. And yet, He had the right to send you to hell or heaven when you died.
“It doesn’t seem right—” I said aloud. “What?” Cico asked.
“God.”
“Yeah,” he agreed.
“Then why do you go to church?” I asked.
“My mother believes—” he answered, “I go to please her—” “I used to think everyone believed in God,” I said.
“There are many gods,” Cico whispered, “gods of beauty and magic, gods of the garden, gods in our own backyards—but we go off to foreign countries to find new ones, we reach to the stars to find new ones—”
“Why don’t we tell others of the golden carp?” I asked.
“They would kill him,” Cico whispered. “The god of the church is a jealous god; he cannot live in peace with other gods. He would instruct his priests to kill the golden carp—”
“What if I become a priest, like my mother wants me to—”
“You have to choose, Tony,” Cico said, “you have to choose between the god of the church, or the beauty that is here and now—” He pointed and I looked into the dark, clear water of the creek. Two brown carp swam from under the thicket into the open.
“He comes—” We held our breath and peered into the water beneath the overhanging thicket. The two brown carp had seen us, and now they circled and waited for their master. The sun glittered off his golden scales.
“It’s him!”
The golden fish swam by gracefully, cautiously, as if testing the water after a long sleep in his subterranean waters. His powerful tail moved in slow strokes as he slid through the water towards us. He was beautiful; he was truly a god. The white sun reflected off his bright orange scales and the glistening glorious light blinded us and filled us with the rapture true beauty brings. Seeing him made questions and worries evaporate, and I remained transfixed, caught and caressed by the essential elements of sky and earth and water. The sun warmed us with its life-giving power, and up in the sky a white moon smiled on us.
“Damn, he’s beautiful—” Cico whistled as the golden carp glided by. “Yes,” I agreed, and for a long time we did not speak. The arrival of the
golden carp rendered us silent. We let the sun beat down on us, and like pagans we listened to the lapping water and the song of life in the grass around us.
Whose priest will I be, I thought. The idea that there could be other gods besides the God of heaven ran through my mind. Was the golden carp a god of beauty, a god of here and now like Cico said. He made the world peaceful—
“Cico,” I said, “let’s tell Florence!” It was not right, I thought, that Florence did not know. Florence needed at least one god, and I was sure he
would believe in the golden carp. I could almost hear him say as he peered into the waters, “at last, a god who does not punish, a god who can bring beauty into my life—”
“Yes,” Cico said after a long pause, “I think Florence is ready. He has been ready for a long time; he doesn’t have gods to choose between.”
“Does one have to choose?” I asked. “Is it possible to have both?” “Perhaps,” he answered. “The golden carp accepts all magic that is
good, but your God, Tony, is a jealous God. He does not accept competition
—” Cico laughed cynically.
I had to laugh with him because I was excited and happy that we were going to let Florence in on our secret. Perhaps later Jasón would know, and then maybe others. It seemed like the beginning of adoration of something simple and pure.
We made our way up the creek until we were just below the Blue Lake.
On this side of the lake there was a concrete wall with a spillway. As the lake filled it emptied in a slow trickle into el Rito. No one was allowed to swim along the wall because the water was very deep and full of thick weeds, and because the lifeguard was on the other side. But as we came up the gentle slope we heard the shouts of swimmers. I recognized Horse and the others shouting and waving at us.
“They’re not supposed to be here,” Cico said.
“Something’s wrong,” I answered. I heard the pitch of fear in their voices as they called and gestured frantically.
“Remember, we tell only Florence,” Cico cautioned. “I know,” I replied.
“Hurry! Hurry!” Abel cried.
“It’s a joke,” Cico said as we neared the gang.
“No, something’s happened—” We sprinted the last few yards and came to the edge of the culvert. “What?” I asked.
“Florence is down there!” Bones cried.
“Florence hasn’t come up! He hasn’t come up!” Abel sobbed and tugged at my arm.
“How long?” I shouted and worked myself loose from Abel. It was not a joke. Something was wrong!
“A long time!” Horse nodded through the spittle in his mouth. “He dived,” he pointed into the deep water, “and he didn’t come up! Too long!”
“Florence,” I groaned. We had come seeking Florence to share our secret with him, a secret of the dark, deep-blue water in which he swam.
“He drowned, he drowned,” Bones whimpered.
“How long?” I wanted to know, “how long has he been in the water?” But their fright would not let them answer. I felt Cico’s hand on my shoulder.
“Florence is a good swimmer,” Cico said.
“But he’s been down too long,” Abel whimpered.
“What do we do?” Horse asked nervously. He was frightened.
I grabbed Abel. “Go get the lifeguard!” I pointed across the lake where the high school boys loitered on the pier and dove off the high board to show off for the girls. “Tell anyone you can find there’s been an accident here!” I shouted into his fear-frozen face. “Tell them there’s a drowning!” Abel nodded and scampered up the path that cut around the side of the lake. He was instantly lost in the tall green reeds of the cattails.
It was a warm day. I felt the sweat cold on my face and arms. The sun glistened on the wide waters of the lake.
“Wha—?”
“Dive after him!”
“No! No!” Horse shook his head violently and bolted back. “I’ll dive,” Cico said. He began to strip.
“Too late!”
We looked and saw the body come up through the water, rolling over and over in a slow motion, reflecting the sunlight. The long blonde hair swirled softly, like golden seaweed, as the lake released its grip and the body tumbled up. He surfaced near where we stood on the edge of the culvert. His open eyes stared up at us. There was a white film over them.
“Oh my God—”
“Help me!” Cico said and grabbed an arm. We pulled and tried to tear the dead weight of his body from the waters of the lake.
There was a red spot on Florence’s forehead where he must have hit bottom or the edge of the culvert. And there was some rusty-black barbed wire around one arm. That must have held him down.
“Horse!” I shouted, “help us!” The weight was too much for Cico and me. Horse hesitated, closed his eyes and grabbed a leg. Then he pulled like a frightened animal. At first he almost tipped us all back into the water, but
he lunged and his frantic strength pulled Florence over the side of the culvert.
Bones would not come near. He stood away, a dry, rattling sound echoing from his throat. He was vomiting and the vomit ran down his chest and stomach and dirtied his swimming trunks. He didn’t know he was vomiting. His wild eyes just stared at us as we pulled Florence on the sand.
I looked across the lake and saw the high school boys pointing excitedly toward us. Some were already convinced something was wrong and were sprinting up the path. They would be here in seconds.
“Damn!” Cico cursed, “he’s dead for sure. He’s cold and heavy, like death—”
“¡Chingada!” Horse muttered and turned away.
I dropped to my knees beside the bronzed, wet body. I touched his forehead. It was cold. His hair was matted with moss and water. Sand clung to his skin, and as he dried little black sand ants began to crawl over him. I crossed my forehead and prayed an Act of Contrition like I had for Narciso, but it was no good. Florence had never believed.
The lifeguard was the first one there. He pushed me aside and he and another high school boy turned Florence on his stomach. He began pushing down on Florence’s back and a sickening white foam flowed from Florence’s mouth.
“Damn! How long was he under?” he asked.
“About five or ten minutes!” Bones growled through his vomit.
“You fucking little bastards!” the lifeguard cursed back. “I’ve told you guys a hundred times not to swim here! Two years I’ve had a perfect record here—now this!” He continued pushing down on Florence’s back and the white froth continued to flow from his mouth.
“Think we should get a priest?” the other high school boy asked worriedly. Quite a few people were already gathered around the body, watching the lifeguard work, asking, “Who is it?”
I wasn’t looking at Florence anymore, I wasn’t looking at anybody. My attention was centered on the northern blue skies. There two hawks circled as they rode the warm air currents of the afternoon. They glided earthward in wide, concentric circles. I knew there was something dead on the road to Tucumcari. I guess it was the sound of the siren or the people pushing around me that shattered my hypnotic gaze. I didn’t know how long I had
been concerned with the hawks’ free flight. But now there were many people pushing around me and the sound of the siren grew louder, more urgent. I looked around for Cico, but he was gone. Bones and Horse were eagerly answering questions for the crowd.
“Who is he?”
“Florence.” “He’s our friend.”
“How did he drown? What happened?”
“He dove in and got caught in the wire. We told him not to go swimming here, but he did. We dove in and pulled him out—”
I didn’t want to hear anymore. My stomach turned and made me sick. I pushed my way through the crowd and began to run. I don’t know why I ran, I just knew I had to be free of the crowd. I ran up the hill and through the town’s quiet streets. Tears blinded my eyes, but the running got rid of the sick feeling inside. I made my way down to the river and waded across. The doves that had come to drink at the river cried sadly. The shadows of the brush and the towering cottonwoods were thick and dark.
The lonely river was a sad place to be when one is a small boy who has just seen a friend die. And it grew sadder when the bells of the church began to toll, and the afternoon shadows lengthened.
